Blood & Vows

A Deal With The Devil

The morning light barely pierced the heavy velvet curtains, casting Ivy’s room in muted gray. She hadn’t slept. She sat curled on the edge of the massive bed, still wearing the remnants of last night's ballgown, her mind a storm of anger, fear, and calculation.

The door creaked open without warning.

A maid entered, carrying a tray of food and a stack of neatly folded clothes. Without meeting Ivy’s gaze, she set the tray down and murmured, "You’re expected downstairs."

No explanation. No choices.

Ivy changed into the simple black dress left for her, noting how it fit perfectly—someone had taken her measurements beforehand. The realization made her skin crawl. They had planned this for longer than she wanted to admit.

Her steps were steady as she followed a silent guard through winding hallways. The mansion’s every corner whispered of history and violence, soaked into stone and marble over generations. Oil paintings of men with cruel eyes stared down at her from gilded frames, a reminder of the bloodline she was stepping into.

The guard opened a heavy door, revealing what looked like a private study. Inside, Luca De Rossi sat behind a massive mahogany desk, papers neatly stacked, a cup of untouched coffee cooling beside him. He didn’t look up immediately, giving her the unnerving sense that she was merely another document on his desk to be handled.

Finally, he lifted his gaze.

"I thought kidnappers usually chain their prisoners to walls," Ivy said, voice dripping venom.

Luca's mouth quirked at the corner. "You're not a prisoner, Ivy. You’re a guest."

"Guests can leave whenever they want."

A soft chuckle escaped him, humorless. "You and I both know you’re far too valuable to let walk away."

He slid a folder across the desk toward her.

Ivy hesitated, every instinct screaming not to touch it. But curiosity was a brutal master. She stepped forward and opened it.

Her blood ran cold.

Inside were photographs—documents, ledgers, bank statements. All carefully labeled. Names she recognized. Transactions traced to her father’s offshore accounts. Deals made in shadows.

And worse: photos of men lying dead in alleyways, clubs burned to the ground, bloodied messages sprayed onto walls. All tied back, somehow, to Marcelli money.

"What is this?" she whispered, her voice almost lost to the room.

"Proof," Luca said simply. "Proof that your father has been funding a war against my family for years."

"No," Ivy said, shaking her head. "My father would never—"

"Don’t lie to yourself," Luca interrupted, voice cutting. "You grew up in this world. You know better."

She flinched. He wasn’t wrong.

"You could’ve killed me," she said instead, her hands tightening into fists. "You could have sent my body back as a message."

"I don’t kill needlessly," Luca replied, his eyes hard. "And believe it or not, Ivy, this is me being merciful."

She closed the folder sharply, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

"Why show me this?" she demanded. "What do you want from me?"

He stood then, moving closer until he towered over her. Every line of his body radiated power, the kind that came from knowing exactly how much fear he could command.

"You have a choice," he said.

"I don’t see any choices," Ivy snapped. "Just a noose, or a different noose."

Luca’s lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Marry me."

The words crashed into her like a wrecking ball.

A humorless laugh escaped her. "You’re insane."

"Perhaps." Luca didn’t deny it. "But it’s the only way you live."

She stepped back, shaking her head. "Marry my enemy? You expect me to sell myself to save my skin?"

"I expect you to survive," he said coldly. "And maybe, one day, you’ll thank me for it."

He dropped a ring onto the desk between them with a soft clink. It wasn’t delicate or pretty. It was a heavy band of platinum, carved with symbols she didn’t recognize—symbols of a dynasty built on blood.

"This is your future," he said. "You can either seize it... or you can become another casualty in a war you didn’t even start."

Ivy stared at the ring.

For a moment, the walls seemed to close in.

Her father’s betrayal. Luca’s cold offer. Her pride, bleeding at her feet.

She had no allies here.

But maybe she didn’t need allies.

Maybe she needed to think like them instead.

"I need time," she said stiffly, lifting her chin.

"You have until tomorrow," Luca replied without hesitation. "Midnight."

The door closed behind him with a final, echoing click.

Ivy stood frozen, her heart hammering.

This wasn’t a proposal. It was a declaration of war.

And she had just been offered the deadliest weapon of all.